


Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away

by MoonRiver



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Making Out, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a case goes wrong, John tries to make Sherlock forget his guilt and enjoy their first Christmas together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeathFrisbee221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathFrisbee221/gifts).



> This is a Christmas gift for DeathFrisbee221, who recently began beta-ing for Not Just Biology. I'd like to say a big thank you to her for offering to help beta that fic, which has become fairly massive! For a prompt idea she gave me the prompt "carols", and from that I give her this. This story is a little bit of feels, a little bit of fluff, and a lot of Johnlock. Enjoy!

Sherlock shivered as cold air swept through the flat. He lifted the cup of tea closer to his lips but he froze, unable to complete the movement. His eyes locked into the fireplace, following each flicker of the flames. The flat was dark and empty; just how he preferred it on Christmas. John was out making the rounds at the Scotland Yard Christmas party, leaving Sherlock perfectly alone with his guilt.

 _The brother,_ he thought to himself for the hundredth time that day, _of course it was the brother._

He closed his eyes and was beginning to go over the clues again in his head when there was a knock at the door.

“Go away!” Sherlock snapped at the empty flat.

Pulling the blanket around himself tightly, Sherlock sank deep into the sofa and curled his knees to his chest. But the knocking only got louder. With a sigh of frustration, Sherlock sat the tea aside and stormed downstairs to the door, ignoring the fact he was still in the dressing gown.

“It’s Christmas Eve!” Sherlock shouted at the closed door. He threw open the door. “Can you at least give me some peace and quiet on-“

He stopped.

John was at the door, grinning from ear to ear.

“John?” He stammered. “What are you doing?”

He glanced around the street, half-expecting other people to pop out. Or maybe he was being held hostage, and someone was giving him orders. Then again, John didn’t look scared or nervous, and instead of blaming himself he began to sing.

Sherlock felt his body go stiff as John burst into a round of “O Come All Ye Faithful”. He could only stare as John hit every note, the broad smile remaining on his face the entire time. A few passerby stopped. An old woman smiled and winked at him, and Sherlock finally snapped out of it.

“Get in here!” Sherlock hissed, grabbing John’s wrist. John laughed as Sherlock pulled him inside and slammed the door. “You’re embarrassing yourself!”

“I can sing!” John protested.

They gazed at each other, and Sherlock couldn’t help but to allow a small smile to cross his face. At the same moment they seemed to both realise their hands were still touching, but instead of dropping his arm John raised his palm to Sherlock’s face. Sherlock froze under the touch. His blood went warm and his bones limp. His stomach turned to knots, and his legs felt like jelly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” John whispered. His eyes were desperate as he gazed up at Sherlock. “It wasn’t your fault, and I’m not going to let you spend Christmas blaming yourself.”

John’s fingers brushed against a scrape on Sherlock’s cheek. Shuddering, Sherlock fought to keep his eyes on John and his breath steady.

“I could have stopped him if only I realised-"

“Stop,” John sang quietly. “We had a sort of memorial for the little girl at the party. I wish you could have been there, it was beautiful, and not one person mentioned you, Sherlock.”

“Because they hate me.”

“No! Because we all feel terrible for what happened. We feel sick. But it wasn’t us. It was some awful, evil, person who will spend the rest of his life in prison thanks to you. That’s what they were talking about. The mum stopped by and she came up to me and thanked me.”

Sherlock swallowed quickly, fighting down the bile that threatened to escape.

“We don’t deserve thanks,” Sherlock whispered.

“She told me she was thankful that so many people were on her side. She knows we did our best.”

“But now she’s lost-"

“Stop!” John hissed, holding a finger up to Sherlock’s lips. His flatmate’s eyes went wide as soon as he realised what he did.

“John?” Sherlock breathed.

“Just…stop.”

For a moment they just breathed. Their lips were so close that Sherlock could feel John’s warm breath on his face. They had been together three short weeks, and everything seemed to be going well up until this last case. The two shared looks across the room, let their hands brush together just so under the table, and smiled a bit more often than usual. But the kissing, the physical aspect of their relationship, was still very new. Sherlock could feel his heart pounding, and as their lips fell together his chest tightened up. Slowly, their lips moved together in a soft dance. John tasted of ale and fish and chips. It was a horrible combo, but once their lips touched he couldn’t break away. The sound of their uneven breaths filled the flat as outside cars sped down the street. Sherlock’s hands fell on his hips and John gasped in surprise. John instantly broke away at the touch, and Sherlock’s arousal melted away into anxiety.

“Did I do something wrong?” Sherlock asked quietly.

Shaking his head, John stepped away and began walking up to the flat.

“I missed you at the party,” John admitted. He walked through the kitchen, flickered on the light, and immediately went for the drinks tucked away in the fridge. “It would have been a lot easier.”

John popped open the can of lager, and Sherlock reached out.

“No offense, but you smell like you’ve had enough.”

Cheeks reddening, John shoved the lager into his hands instead, and Sherlock graciously raised the drink to his lips. He typically stuck to wine, but he welcomed anything right now. After swallowing a bit more of the drink than necessary, Sherlock sat it down on the counter. John reached for his hand at the same time.

“Sorry for the singing bit,” John grinned. “Like you said…I’m a bit tipsy.”

John began leading him into the living room, but as soon as he took a few steps he stumbled a bit and burst into giggles.

“Okay, maybe a bit more than tipsy,” John admitted. “And there goes the room spinning. Did I mention Lestrade sent me home in a taxi?”

“That explains it.”

Wrapping his arms around his waist, Sherlock helped him walk over to the sofa where John unceremoniously fell over. Sherlock nearly went with him, but he saved himself just in time. He placed a couple of pillows beneath John’s head and stood back to his admit his flatmate- his partner.

“It was beautiful singing,” Sherlock said.

“Thanks,” John replied with a sloppy grin. A lump developed in Sherlock’s throat as he stood there and wondered what else he was supposed to do. “It’s your turn now.”

Sherlock blinked.

“What?”

“Sing me a carol.”

“I…I’m not going to sing, John.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“You didn’t even get me a present, the least you can do is sing!”

“I…” Sherlock swallowed, nervously. “I can’t exactly sing. And I did get you a present, thank you very much.”

John’s eyes lit up, and he sat up a bit.

“You did?” He asked. “Can I open it?”

“Christ, you’re like a child!” Sherlock shot.

He dipped away into his bedroom and knelt down to retrieve the box he stored under the bed. Sherlock pulled it out and stared at the wrapping for a moment and hoped that he made a good choice. As he sat down beside John he forgot to breathe, and he kept his eyes on the package instead of John’s face as he began to unwrap it.

“You’re kidding!” John laughed as he pulled out a scarf. It was exactly like the one Sherlock usually wore, except for being a shade of brown instead of black- to match his hair better, he thought. “Matching scarves? That’ll get them talking. Thank you.”

John threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly. Closing his eyes, Sherlock embraced the feeling of John’s arms around him. It felt warm; safe. It felt right. When they broke apart John immediately wrapped the scarf around his neck and broke into a smile. Suddenly he wished that he could fulfill John’s plea- he wished that he could sing. Maybe he would have actually done it.

But there was something he could do.

He jumped up from the sofa, grabbed his violin, and grabbed John’s wrist.

“Sherlock!” John whined as he was pulled to his feet and down the steps. “What are you doing?”

John winced as they hit the cold night air, and they got more than a few weird looks from passerby as Sherlock ushered him to stand against their flat.

“I can’t sing,” Sherlock explained, “but if you really want to hear carols…”

He raised his bow to the strings and began playing a version of “Hark the Harold Angels Sing” that brought the people racing down the sidewalks to a halt. John grinned as he played through the song and smoothly transitioned into “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas”, and he was surprised when John joined in by singing. He began picking out tunes to Christmas songs he hardly knew or liked but recognised from the radio and shops. Their medley continued to “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” and finally “Silent Night”.

As the last note rang from his violin they both earned a round of applause from their small audience, and John was grinning so wide the smile looked to be permanently plastered on his face.

“Jesus it’s cold,” John commented as the crowed broke up, “but that was brilliant, thank you.”

They stepped back into the flat, and Sherlock found himself pinned against the wall as soon as the door closed. It felt claustrophobic, being stuck between John’s body and the wall behind him. Once again their lips crashed together, and he brought his hands to John’s hips again to steady himself. This time, John didn’t back away. With their bodies pressed together, they held onto each other as the kiss deepened. Closing his eyes, Sherlock breathed in John’s smell. It was intoxicating: the alcohol, the cologne, the hint of soap. His lips tasted dry and salty this time, and John kept pulling away to lick them for moisture. Sherlock draped his tongue across the bottom lip, then the top, and John clutched to him and whimpered at the touch.

_Whimpered._

His body twitched with excitement, and Sherlock never knew he could be so turned on by a simple sound. Their lips fought gracefully until Sherlock worked up enough courage to tease John’s lips open with his tongue. So far most of their kisses had been simple and brief, but he could feel John’s excitement as his tongue dipped into his partner’s mouth. John let out a soft moan, and adrenaline coursed through him.

With a shudder, Sherlock deepened the kiss and tightened his grip on John’s forearms. Another stifled moan escaped John as Sherlock’s tongue graced his teeth and throat.

“Sherlock,” John murmured as they pulled apart.

Though they clutched to each other their eyes dashed away. Their hands remained latched together, swinging freely in the space between them.

“I know we’re both still getting used to the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing,” John began, “but would you mind if we just sit on the sofa and watch whatever crap Christmas film is on telly? I just need to get my mind off things.”

“Sure.”

Sherlock led them both back into the flat, and he didn’t argue as John flipped over to some animated children’s movie. John seemed satisfied; they gracefully fell together onto the sofa. He lay behind John, and Sherlock’s hands seemed automatically attracted to his hair. He played with the loose strands of blonde hair while John watched the programme, transfixed.

But after only a few moments of this peace, Sherlock couldn’t help but to demand:

“What the bloody hell are we watching?”

“It’s called ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’.”

“It’s a children’s movie, John!” He pointed out. “Are you telling me ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ is seriously not on tonight?”

John turned toward him with a grin on his face.

“Are you telling me you like that movie?”

He quickly became flustered, but Sherlock managed to stammer:

“No, I…was just curious in your choice, that’s all.”

His partner shrugged and turned back to the telly.

“It’s a holiday classic,” he explained. “The Grinch hates Christmas so he plots to steal it from everyone in the village.”

Biting his lip, Sherlock decided to just let that go. When he grew bored of John’s hair he moved down to his face, and he visibly shuddered when Sherlock’s cold knuckle scraped across his cheek. John wore a light blue bruise underneath his eye from earlier that evening, and it stung to have to look down and see the mark.

“Does it hurt?” Sherlock asked.

“No,” John replied, breathlessly.

His hands moved further down, to John’s shoulders. He gently messaged them; John flinched as his fingers began easing out all the tension. A small moan escaped his partner, but John held his breath as soon as he realised what he did. His fingers danced from John’s shoulders down his arm, but as soon as they reached his elbow he jumped.

“Stop that!” John hissed. A sloppy grin spread across his face. “Not during a Christmas movie, it just seems wrong!”

Sherlock couldn’t help but to grin as he planted a kiss to John’s neck. John shifted positions, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around his waist to hold him close. Breathing deeply, Sherlock took in his scent and let his body completely relax.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Sherlock murmured. “I just can’t accept that I wasn’t able to stop it. I’m glad you came back home, John. John?”

He glanced down at his partner and was surprised to see John was fast asleep. Sherlock planted a final kiss to his cheek and reached down for the blanket that lay at the foot of the sofa. After pulling the blanket over them both, Sherlock tugged John closer to him and settled into the cushions and mumbled:

“Happy Christmas, John.”

  
Though he could have turned off the telly at any time he let the movie play out, and when the tiny little dog attempted to pull the sled a single laugh actually escaped him. John shifted beneath him, and Sherlock's half-smile stayed frozen on his face. John was right: it was Christmas. For one day they were allowed to forget everything that happened. Then they would start out the new year together, truly together, and maybe for once things would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this warmed your heart! Thanks for reading! I hope your holidays have been wonderful :)


End file.
